


Talk to Me

by socknonny



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billy is friends with Jane, Enemies to fucked if I know to lovers, Frotting, Introspection, M/M, References to implied past child abuse, Trust Issues, Violence but not super graphic, anger issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-04-24 22:32:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14365080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/socknonny/pseuds/socknonny
Summary: Billy meets Jane, and she teaches him how to fight. Then Steve shows up...





	Talk to Me

**Author's Note:**

> At this point in my Harringrove experience, I literally don't even care about the ship... I'm just over here reading 100k fucking redemption arcs about this dumb piece of trash learning to be a better person while buying groceries and making friends.
> 
> That's not what this is though. This is... I don't even know. Anger therapy and dry humping.
> 
> (obviously I love this ship... xD but y'all get what I'm saying, right??)

Billy had to get out of here, and he had to get out now.

Max and her little parade of nerds had taken over the kitchen table, and his dad… his dad just…. He just fucking let them.

The TV was blaring, the nerds were talking, and Billy couldn't think, couldn't breathe with how unfair it was. Neil had even come into the kitchen to talk to them all, and it had been ‘Mr. Hargrove’ this, and ‘Mr. Hargrove’ that. He'd smiled. Offered them food. 

Billy couldn't breathe, so he left. He thought he might have heard his dad call after him, but there was no way he was stopping. He slammed the door to the Camaro behind him and reversed so fast out of the driveway that he nearly hit a tree.

Then he just drove and drove and drove.

It was night by the time he came to a stop, somewhere out in the woods on some shitty dirt track he'd taken on a whim. He stopped the car, breathed in the scent of  _ emptiness _ \--no civilisation for miles around--and realised he wasn't alone.

A young girl stood in the shadow of a tree. He wouldn't have noticed her except that his eyes couldn't seem to stop searching everywhere for a threat. He didn’t think she was a threat, but there was something about the way she watched him that set his teeth on edge. 

Maybe she wasn’t a threat, but despite how young she was, Billy was also certain that, bizarre though it might be, she wasn’t threatened by him either. 

The girl came out from the shadows and moved into the glow of the headlights. Billy saw her lips moving, but he couldn’t hear her over the rumble of the Camaro. He cut the engine and opened the door, stepping out into the night. 

“You’re hurt,” she said again.

Was this chick for real?

“Nah, kid,” he said slowly, looking around for a parent. There was no one in sight. “I’m not hurt.”

Slowly, the girl moved her hand until it hovered over her chest, where her heart would sit. “Here.”

Billy froze. The soft whispers of the night faded into the background, and all he could hear was the rhythm of his pulse thudding beneath his skin. Maybe he’d finally lost it. Maybe his dad  _ had _ called out after him when he left, and Billy had turned around, and today was the day his dad had finally beaten him so hard that he’d lost all sense of reality. 

Maybe he was dead. 

“What makes you say that?” He walked forward, plucking his pack of cigarettes from his back pocket and sliding one between his lips.

He didn’t feel dead. The smoke bit against his tongue as he inhaled, and he blew it out slowly, watching it mingle with the condensation from his breath. 

“I can feel your anger.” The hand that still hovered over her heart suddenly clenched into a fist. “Like mine. You fight back, but you don’t know which ones to hurt, so you hurt them all.”

Billy chuckled and tilted his head back to stare at the stars. “You psycho-analyzing me now, are ya?”

When he looked back, the girl was frowning.

“Psy-- psycho--”

For the first time in this strange conversation, Billy felt off-balance. “Psycho-analyzing,” he repeated.

The girl watched him expectantly. 

“Means you’re trying to understand what makes me tick.” 

He had to be dreaming. There was no possible way he was standing in the forest in the middle of shithole Indiana, teaching some twelve year old how to speak English.

She smiled. “What makes me tick,” she repeated softly, and Billy had the strangest idea that she meant something entirely different. 

She turned back to him suddenly. “I can help.”

Billy raised his eyebrows, took another drag. “Can you, now?”

“Stop the anger.”

“Hate to disappoint, but nothing stops the anger, sweetheart.”

The girl smiled again, but it was different this time. Billy felt chills running down his spine. All of a sudden, the ground beneath him began to shake, and then the door of his Camaro slammed shut. He spun around in time to see the entire car lift a foot away from the ground, shaking all the while, before it fell back down with a crash. 

When he turned back to the girl, her nose was bleeding and her eyes were filled with a kind of cold triumph he had only ever seen in the mirror. 

“Fuck,” he breathed. 

He turned to the car, then back to the girl again. A sharp pain shot through his fingers, and he yelped as he realised he had let the cigarette burn all the way down to the filter, singing him. He dropped it and drew out another one, taking his time lighting it so that he could think. He wasn’t one to believe in the supernatural; he only believed what he saw with his own eyes. But this chick fell into the latter category, and so logic dictated that a new belief system might be in order.

“Well,” he said finally, thinking it through. “You can’t teach me how to do  _ that _ .”

The girl shook her head. “Can teach how to fight.”

“I already know how to fight.”

The girl shook her head. “You fight wrong. Wild. Anger grows.”

Rage swelled in his stomach. It was always there, just searching for an opening. He forced it down. 

She wasn’t wrong. Fighting was his way of giving in. It was the only time the anger no longer felt as though it was consuming him; it was the only time it ever truly did.

He took another drag of his cigarette and let it out slowly. The girl didn’t blink, didn’t shy away, just waited. 

“You think you can teach me how to fight?”

She nodded.

Well, she had lifted his car up with her mind--the kid had something going for her.

Billy walked forward, boots crunching through the leaves, and held out his hand. She only stared at it for a moment before she shook it in her own. Her hands were painfully small; something sharp and protective flickered in Billy’s chest.

“Name’s Billy.”

“Jane.” She held his gaze without flinching.

“All right,” he said, drawing away. Then, he narrowed his eyes. “But you don’t ever do that shit to my car again, you hear me?”

Jane laughed. “Promise.”

 

~oOo~

 

Billy came back the next week. He still didn’t know if he had imagined Jane, but he was so close to maiming someone that he didn’t know what else to do. 

A few months ago, he would have just given into it. But after that night at the Byers, the thought of voluntarily losing control made something inside him shut down. It wasn’t just around Max and her nerd friends either, or even around Harrington, it was everywhere. He thought of the intoxicating release of fighting--of letting go of the ever-present rage, no longer trying to hide it or soothe it, just  _ feeling  _ it--and his body just… froze. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d even gone to a party or to the quarry to drink with anyone. Not that he was missing out; his own company was far better than any he could find in this hick town. Still, he felt sometimes like there was a sheet of glass separating him from the rest of the world. When he’d been able to give into his rage, he could shatter that glass and drown in the feelings that consumed him. Now… there was nothing. 

After that night, when he had proven to himself just how far he was willing to let his rage take him, he was no longer sure which was worse. 

He parked the car in the same place he’d seen Jane last, Judas Priest blaring from the speakers, and waited. He couldn’t say why he was so sure he would see her again, only that he felt certain she knew he was here. He’d hardly even lit his cigarette before he looked up to see her standing there. 

He frowned. “What happened to you? You look like shit.”

Even with the music behind him, his voice carried in the still air of the forest. It made him feel exposed, uncertain. If he was back in Cali, he would have had to yell to be heard over the din of cars and chatter, no matter how far out he drove.

Jane shook her head. He supposed it was the only sort of answer he was getting because she said nothing. Her face was pale with heavy, dark rings beneath her eyes, but her eyes were fierce and she didn’t turn to leave.

After a moment, he stood up and shut the door behind him. The music was muffled now. If he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend they were standing outside a crowded bar instead of in the middle of the woods.

“So, what’ve you got to teach me?” he drawled, cigarette twitching between his lips as he spoke.

Jane smiled, coming forward to stand in the middle of the dirt track. “Punch or kick?” 

It took him a moment to realise it was a question, not that it made any more sense that way. He stared at her.

“Punch?” he said finally.

Suddenly, a log the size of his head was flying straight at his chest. He didn’t have time to think--barely had time to react--just threw his fist straight into the centre of it. It was rotten at the core, and the force of his punch broke it into pieces, showering them both with bark. 

He coughed, his cigarette falling out of his mouth as he ducked his head and tried to scrub rotting wood out of his eyes. 

Cute, real cute. She was going to hurl stuff at him, and he was going to knock it flying, and that was somehow going to teach him out to fight, was it? She was probably laughing at him right now, thinking it was a neat lesson. He’d been an idiot to think a little girl could ever help him. 

He shoved his hair out of his eyes and straightened up, an insult already on the tip of his tongue, but when he met Jane’s eyes, he froze. 

She wasn’t laughing at him. She was still, silent. He was missing something. 

Every instinct urged him to shove forward--fight, lead. If he didn’t understand something, he’d make damn sure he could at least control it. But Jane was different. He had a feeling she wouldn’t do anything to him that took away his control. The surge of protectiveness filled his chest again and brought with it something new--something like respect.

He threw away his instincts and just asked her instead. 

“What am I meant to do?”

“Feel.”

He blinked. He’d tried this a thousand times before with boxing bags, walls, flimsy pieces of furniture; it never worked. Nothing compared to taking it out on some piece of shit who deserved it.

But Jane was looking at him like she knew something he didn’t, and for the first time in his life he felt the smallest, tiniest flicker of an urge to let someone else lead. He followed it.

“Show me.”

Another log came flying at him, but he was ready this time. With a furious cry that sounded like a growl, he punched it out of the air. Another came, and another. He met them each time, focusing on the sensation of pain in his knuckles, the glorious sense of rage consuming him. He gave into it, and the glass shattered.

The first few logs he destroyed were just like punching bags: satisfying, but sterile and ultimately useless. But slowly, he became aware of Jane watching him. She stood in the centre of the road, unflinching, as she hurled log after log at his head. He somehow knew this was nothing for her, that she could do this in her sleep, but she never turned away. She saw him. She witnessed his rage.

The moment he realised that, he was overcome with sensation. And yet, it was nothing like the black-out fury of a fight. Images consumed his mind--Max and her friends laughing at the kitchen table, his dad laughing with them--but he didn’t feel lost. He was still here. 

He let loose a final, unrecognisable, shout and sent the last log bursting into a thousand pieces with a single blow.

He fell back against the hood of his car, his chest heaving. Behind him, the last notes of Metal Gods were fading, merging into Grinder. Billy took in the expression on Jane’s face and realised that his part was over--now it was her turn. He smiled--sharp and a little feral--and opened the door to turn up the music. 

Jane looked away from him, eyes searching the ground for something. Billy leaned back against the door and waited. Whatever she was doing, he knew it was going to be good.

Suddenly, her eyes lit with familiar fire. It took him a moment to see what she’d found, but when he did, his eyebrows shot up. The tree began to shake, dead branches protesting the inhuman movement by groaning and cracking. Sweat dripped down Jane’s brow, but she didn’t falter. Billy watched her, taking in the anger that simmered below her quiet surface--witnessed her. 

With a scream, she flung her hand out and the tree tore itself out of the ground and ripped apart. 

Billy laughed, the sound mingling with Jane’s furious cry as she let it fall. They must have looked mad, the two of them--even without the floating trees. They were covered in sweat and dirt, pieces of wood strewn across them and a pair of wild grins on their faces, but Billy had never felt so relaxed. 

He wondered what it was that Jane was angry about. He’d never known someone as young as her to be so full of impotent rage--except himself, of course. 

“Want to talk about it?” he asked. 

“We just did.”

She sounded just as free as he felt, and he couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. It was a real one; he hadn’t been sure he had those anymore.

Jane looked at the broken pieces of wood around them and frowned, uncertain for the first time since Billy had known her.

“You got a fireplace?” he asked. 

The uncertainty gave way to satisfaction, and she nodded. Together, they gathered up the firewood and carried it back through the woods. They piled it out the back of an empty cabin where Billy assumed Jane must live. The strange protectiveness flared again, though given what he’d seen of Jane’s abilities it was probably ludicrous. 

Still. 

“If you ever need me,” Billy said slowly, shoving his hands in his pockets and stepping back to get a good view of the dilapidated walls and roof, “just call. Do you have a phone?”

Jane shook her head. Figured. 

“Well, figure something out,” he said. “Shove the thought straight into my brain or something; you seem like you could probably do that.”

She smiled. “No, but my sister can.”

“Christ.”

He shook his head, unable to keep from laughing, just a little, at the thought of the two of them together. 

“Well, I’ve hit my quota of strange things for the day.” He lifted a hand in farewell and turned to leave.

“Bye, Billy.”

His step faltered, but he kept walking. Somehow, Jane knew what was going on inside his head. She knew what was there, she understood it, and yet she was still here.

Of all the things he had seen today, that was the strangest.

 

~oOo~

 

He kept coming back. Slowly, he started to listen to Jane. Sometimes it was with words, sometimes it was something else entirely--an understanding the two of them had, shared with looks and gestures and a rage so deep it couldn’t be contained. Somehow, Billy thought that if Jane had possessed the words to explain it, he would have understood her less.

The next time Billy tried to visit Jane, he ran into Harrington instead. 

The Beemer was parked right where Billy normally parked, and even though Billy tried to calm the rising tide of fury--tried to remind himself that nothing had happened, that he didn’t have to protect anyone yet--his blood was already boiling before he’d even stepped out of the car. 

“Look who it is,” he said, slamming the door behind him and prowling over to where Harrington was standing in the middle of the road. 

“What are you doing out here?” Harrington didn’t waste time. 

“Collecting firewood,” Billy growled.

“Collect it somewhere else.”

Billy threw his head back and laughed. Wasn’t that just precious? Harrington had single-handedly managed to ruin everything by getting in his way that night. It was only since then that Billy had been unable to let go anymore, to smash the glass wall separating him from the world. And he’d finally,  _ finally _ , found a way to break through it.

And now Harrington was here to ruin that too.

The familiar tide of rage consumed him. He couldn’t let Harrington find out about Jane. Who knew what this hick town would do to a girl with powers like that?

“I’m going to give you til the count of three, Harrington,” he said quietly. “And then you’re going to leave.”

Harrington squared his shoulders. “You know, there aren’t any plates out here for you to smash over my head this time and take me by surprise.”

“One.”

“I’m really not in the mood, Hargrove.” Something cold flashed in Harrington’s eyes. For a second, he looked like Billy felt--on edge, like he was protecting something.

Billy narrowed his eyes. “Two.”

“I swear to God, Hargrove, you’d better walk away from this goddamn road or I’m going to--”

“Three.”

Billy swung, but something caught his arm in the air at the same time Harrington seemed to freeze before him. Billy felt his heart sink at the same time he watched shock and then--inexplicably--realisation cross Harrington’s features.

“Jane!” Billy roared. “Get out of here. I’ve got this.”

The realisation on Harrington’s face shifted into confusion, then horror.

“You--” he began, but then an invisible force exploded in between them and they went flying backwards from each other. 

Billy lay on his back for several seconds, groaning and staring up at the sky. When he finally sat up, Jane was standing in between them. 

“You don’t know which ones to hurt,” she said to him, reminding him of the first conversation they’d ever had. 

His eyes slid to Harrington, who was staring at the two of them like he’d seen a ghost. 

“No,” Harrington interrupted before Billy could think of a way to explain to Jane that this was one person he  _ should  _ hurt, that this was one person who could hurt Jane. “No, El, you don’t understand.”

“Friend,” Jane said, turning to Harrington.

“No, El, you can’t be friends with him! He’s not like--”

“ _ Friend _ .” 

Harrington fell silent. Billy had the strangest urge to poke out his tongue, but there was no time for that right now.

“Jane,” he said instead. “You shouldn’t talk to just anyone. There are people out there who’ll try to hurt you.”

Harrington burst into laughter that sounded a bit deranged. Billy ignored him. 

“I know,” she said quietly.

Well, what could he say to that?

Slowly, he climbed to his feet while across the other side of the road, Harrington did the same. After several uncomfortable minutes of silence, it dawned on Billy that Jane was expecting them to continue as planned. 

“No way,” he said, stabbing the air with his finger. “Not with him here.”

“He can help.”

“How?”

“He can fight you like you won’t fight me.”

No matter how much Jane insisted Billy wouldn’t hurt her, he refused to fight her. They were running out of dead trees to break. 

“Is anyone, at any point, going to explain to me what is happening?” Harrington asked, spreading his hands in the air and staring at the two of them.

“No,” Billy and Jane said in unison without turning away from each other.

Jane glared at Billy, and he gave in; it had been inevitable from the start. 

“Fine,” he growled and stalked away for some air.

He heard Jane and Harrington arguing behind him in quiet voices, but he couldn’t hear what they were saying. He grabbed a cigarette from his pack and shoved it between his lips, trying to pretend his fingers weren’t shaking. He didn’t want to fight Harrington. But he would because Jane asked him to, and Jane knew things he didn’t. Not the future; he was fairly sure she didn’t have that power. But she knew  _ Billy  _ in a way that he didn’t even know himself. 

After a few minutes, a noise like someone choking made him look up, and Harrington was looking at him with such a ludicrous mixture of confusion and horror and fear, that Billy would have burst out laughing if he didn’t feel the same.

“Don’t be like that, Harrington,” he drawled, dropping his cigarette and grinding it beneath his boot. “Promise I’ll go easy on you.”

“You won’t hurt each other,” Jane insisted, and Billy didn’t know if she was warning them that there would be consequences if they did or telling them that she wouldn’t let it happen.

Billy bared his teeth. “Not a scratch.”

“Friends don’t lie.”

Ah, shit. He looked back at her, saw Harrington do the same out of the corner of his eye. 

They paused, and then in the same breath, they both said, “Promise.”

A strange sense of calm settled over them when Jane stepped aside. There was no mistaking the similarity between this night and that one all those months ago, and yet everything was in opposition. Billy was calm rather than angry, Harrington curious instead of defensive, and their audience wasn’t a group of screaming children. It was just one child, and she felt older than both of them. 

It was the same but entirely different. They had stepped straight into the mirror and out the other side. Billy didn’t know the rules here. All he knew was that he had to fight Harrington, but he wasn’t allowed to hurt him. 

How was he going to manage that?

Slowly, Harrington brought his fists up in front of his face, one eyebrow raised in question. “Spar?” 

Billy blinked. He’d never sparred with anyone before. It hadn’t even occurred to him. When people fought him, they were aiming to cause damage. No one fought him for the fun of it. 

He couldn’t help the grin that spread across is face as he brought his own fists up to mirror Harrington’s. Then, on some signal he didn’t recognise, the two of them charged forward.

Instead of colliding in a flurry of pain and fury, each out to hurt the other as much as possible, Billy held back, pulling his punches and giving Harrington time to block them. Harrington’s eyes widened in shock, but it passed in seconds as he fell into the same motions. Billy felt something shift between them, the mirror world’s rules settling into place, and suddenly everything was different.

They were still fighting, still throwing everything they had at the other, but they were working together too. Billy had the feeling Jane was helping them, making sure they didn’t slip and knock each other too hard as they blocked and grappled and threw each other across the dirt. But soon enough, they’d figured out a rhythm that worked, and he wasn’t sure they needed her there at all. 

And now that he was watching Harrington so closely, looking not only to exploit his weaknesses but to work with his strengths as well, Billy started to realise something.

When Billy had fought Harrington that night, it hadn’t been personal. It had been so far from personal that it hadn’t even been Harrington’s face that Billy saw in front of him. It still wasn’t personal for Billy; but for Harrington, it was. Every move, every step, was for Billy, even if they weren’t trying to hurt each other. 

He was reclaiming what he’d lost that night, and in this strange space they had entered, where they seemed almost in tune with each other’s thoughts, Billy somehow understood why. He fell back, looking more for Harrington’s strengths than his weaknesses, giving him space to move instead of trying only to knock him out in the cheapest way possible. 

There was a split second, just before Harrington took him down, where Billy knew it was coming--a fraction of time where he could almost predict the future. He saw it in Harrington’s eyes, saw the triumph. As Harrington’s foot connected with the back of his knee, knocking his legs out from under him and sending him straight down onto his back, he didn’t feel like he’d lost. It felt right, like they had been having a conversation without words and this was the only outcome he wanted.

He lay on his back, looking up as Harrington shoved his hair back out of his eyes, and grinned. Harrington’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, and then he grinned back and held out a hand to help Billy stand.

Jane had been right: it was better with Harrington there. Billy could fight him in a way he could never fight Jane, and in some strange way that he couldn’t yet understand, it was exactly what he needed. But there was still something bothering him. It had been bothering him for a while, and now, with Harrington added to the mix, he needed an answer. 

Before he left, he took his time lighting a cigarette so that Harrington had wandered off, and then he walked over to where Jane was watching him by a tree.

“Why are you doing this?” He kept his voice low.

Jane was putting so much work into helping him, it didn’t make sense. Why bother?

“My sister.”   
“Your sister? What about your sister?”

“She’s like you. The anger is too much.”

He understood nothing Jane was saying, and yet it made a strange sort of sense. 

“So, you’re helping me so that you can learn how to help your sister?” 

He laughed, the sound dragging out of his throat like gravel. Figured. The kid was just using him. He wasn’t sure why he was even surprised. It’s not like she owed him anything different.

“No.”

Something in her voice made him look up. She was staring straight at him, eyes fierce and filled with an emotion Billy hadn’t seen since his mother was still around. 

“I’m helping you so I can help you.”

When he finally managed to look away from her, he realised that Harrington had heard every word. He was staring at Billy with an unreadable expression, and Billy thought that in that moment he would give anything to know what Harrington was thinking.

 

~oOo~

 

They fell into a strange rhythm after that night. Billy still didn’t know why Harrington had been there at all--obviously he and Jane knew each other already, though that raised more questions than it answered--but it didn’t seem to matter. They met on that same stretch of dirt track, sometimes with Jane, sometimes without, and they sparred. 

It didn’t take Billy long to realise that he wasn’t the only one who Jane was teaching. Whether Harrington knew it or not, the sparring was helping him too. Billy wondered if it felt the same for Harrington, if fighting like this allowed him to feel things in a way that he couldn’t any other time. It was like it gave him back control by allowing him to let go.

It didn’t make sense, but it was exhilarating.

Jane said it was about focus, that ‘side-by-side’ allowed you to change in ways that you never could if you were always alone. Billy didn’t know or care what the reason was; all he knew was that sparring with Harrington made his blood sing.

Sometimes, he wondered what it was that made Harrington lose control. But since he didn’t want to share his own secrets, he didn’t ask. 

He was about to leave the house to meet Jane and Harrington, when Max blocked him from leaving, a strange look on her face.

“Steve’s on the phone for you,” she said, staring at him like he was a ghost. “Why?”

“How should I know, shithead? I haven’t spoken to him yet.”

He shoved past her and picked up the phone, heart racing for reasons he couldn’t explain.

“Yeah?”

He could hear Harrington breathing, but it was several seconds before he said anything. “I couldn’t call anyone else.”

“What the hell--”

“Can you come over?”

Billy’s eyes widened. He was acutely aware of Max standing on the other side of the door, listening. 

“Yeah,” he said then hung up the phone.

He ignored Max’s questions, practically racing down the drive to the Camaro, and tore down the street without looking back.

He knew where Harrington’s house was because Tommy had tried to get them all to sneak into the pool one time. When Billy had realised whose house it was, he’d left and gone to drink alone in the quarry. The wall of glass had been firmly back in place, and if he’d stayed, he would have knocked someone out just to shatter it.

Tonight, he pulled up out the front, Living After Midnight breaking through the eerie stillness of the dark driveway. He watched the house for several minutes while the song ended, wondering why Harrington hadn’t switched on any lights if he’d asked Billy to come over. Finally, he switched off the ignition and stepped out into the night. 

Harrington opened the door before he reached it. His face was pale, and his eyes were rimmed with shadow.  For a moment, Billy’s steps faltered and he wondered what the hell he was walking into. But no matter what it was, he knew that he couldn’t walk away. This thing with Harrington… it was different now. They’d barely said two words to each other since the first time they’d sparred, but Billy knew him in a way that he hardly knew anyone else. 

Some things don’t need words--are better without them in fact. Jane had taught him that.

He knew Harrington’s anger, his drive, his pride… He knew Harrington’s weaknesses, just as Harrington knew Billy’s. And both of them knew those weaknesses were safe with the other.

Somehow, in a forest out in the middle of shithole Indiana, the two of them had built up trust.

Something told him that if he left now, that would be it… no second chances. 

“You look like shit, Harrington,” Billy said.

Then he stepped into the foyer and closed the door behind him.

Harrington’s eyes darted around the room, just like they did in the forest. 

“I didn’t want to call the kids,” he said, stepping back into the living room. “I didn’t want to panic them.”

Apprehension grew tight in Billy’s chest. He followed Harrington into the room and reached for the light.

“No!” Harrington’s eyes were wide with fear. “Don’t!”

“Why the fuck not?”

“Because--” He ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t want it to know that I know it’s here.”

Billy made a show of looking around. “There’s nothing here. You’re just a whole basket of crazy.”

Harrington laughed. There was a delusional edge to the sound.

“Okay,” Billy said slowly. “Why don’t we sit down and you can tell me what’s going on.”

Harrington backed up to the wall, but he didn’t sit. After a moment, Billy joined him, leaning back so they were side by side.

“There are… things out there,” Harrington said haltingly. “We fought them. We won, but…”

A few months ago, Billy would have chalked it up to crazy and left. Or stayed for the show. Either way, he wouldn’t have believed it. But now, he’d met Jane.

“Are they in the house?”

Harrington stared ahead, eyes glassy and unfocused. “No,” he said finally, so quiet Billy could barely hear it. “But I see them anyway.”

Billy reckoned they could do with Jane’s sister right about now--someone who could change what was going on in Harrington’s head, what he saw. But they didn’t have her sister; they only had Billy. 

“I’m going to turn the lights on,” Billy said slowly and waited until Harrington nodded.

It seemed crazier in the soft light of the living room, crazier and more real all at once.

Suddenly, Harrington turned to him. “Can we spar?”

Interest warred with hesitation. Harrington wasn’t angry; he was scared. Fear didn’t make for a good sparring environment. 

But when their eyes met and he saw that Harrington was looking at him with such pleading desperation, Billy realised that, in that moment, he would do anything Harrington asked him. The thought hit him like a freight train, leaving him a little breathless, and he felt simultaneously weaker and steadier at the knowledge.

“Let’s do it.” 

Harrington’s mouth curved into a slow smile, and Billy realised he’d made the right choice. Harrington was overloaded with feeling right now; he needed a way to dissect it and tease it apart. 

Billy shrugged off his jacket and threw it on the ground. The second it landed, Harrington was on him. It wasn’t like the other times, with controlled punches that they blocked and ducked. Harrington wrestled him to the ground, throwing Billy straight onto his back and knocking all the air out of him. Billy barely had enough time to get his hands free before they were grappling together, twisting and throwing each other across the room in a desperate bid for ground.

Harrington wasn’t trying to hurt Billy; he was trying to control him, to get him onto his back and keep him there. 

It made sense in a creeping, visceral sort of way. Harrington was surrounded by monsters. Once, they had been real, but tonight they were nothing more than visions without substance. Billy had substance. 

Harrington threw him to the ground again and again. Every time Billy got free, Harrington wrestled him down again, eyes wide and dark. Slowly, Billy saw the change come over him as his eyes began to focus again, no longer glassy and unseeing. He was here, present. The monsters faded, and he saw Billy instead. 

Billy took a deep breath, and then with everything in him, he let go. When Harrington pinned him down again, Billy stayed there. 

They stared at each other, chests heaving, and it was like nothing Billy had ever felt or done before. Even when he’d let Jane lead, he’d never given up his control--only put it on pause. Harrington’s face softened with something unidentifiable, something soft and unsure. 

Then, Billy felt it: undeniable proof that Billy wasn’t the only one reacting to how close they were, how much he could feel Harrington’s chest pushing against his own with every breath.

Harrington noticed it a second later, and he pushed away from Billy and scrambled backwards, leaving Billy feeling cold and a little empty as he slowly sat up.   
“Don’t sweat it,” Billy said, still leaning back on his elbows and watching Harrington carefully. 

What he wanted to say was ‘come back’, but he couldn’t make his mouth form the words.

“Sorry, man, I didn’t mean--” Harrington broke off suddenly. 

Billy thought Harrington must be about to run, to leave him lying here on the ground, but he didn’t. Instead, his face fell slack in dawning realisation.

It hit Billy then, the understanding that they had spent so long learning to talk without words--how could Harrington not know what Billy was thinking right now?

The thought terrified him, leaving him feeling as cold and alone as if Harrington really had run. But before he had time to react, Harrington was on him again, but it was different this time, softer. For a second, he froze, unsure what to do or how to act. But then Harrington’s hands slid to Billy’s wrists, and it was just like sparring.

Harrington pinned him down, and Billy let him. He didn’t retreat or pull away; he let his head fall back against the floor and slowly, deliberately pushed his hips up to meet Harrington’s so that there was no mistaking what was happening between the two of them.

Harrington’s mouth dropped to his, rough in a way that none of the girls Billy pretended he enjoyed kissing could ever be. The silence of room broke apart with the sound of harsh breaths and bitten off moans. Billy flexed his hands, but Harrington held him down, keeping that sense of control he had needed so badly from the moment Billy walked through the door. 

Billy let him. He let him, and he fell into the kiss like he was drowning in it. Images swept over him--his dad yelling at him, calling Billy names that came back to haunt him in the dead of night--and Billy  _ felt  _ them, felt them in ways he never could without breaking something in response. But he didn’t have to break anything this time. He was here, and Harrington was here with him, and as he felt Harrington’s lips and teeth moving against him with a desperation he’d only imagined in his dreams, the memories faded away.

His jeans were tight, and he couldn’t help bucking up faster, relishing the way Harrington ground down into him--hard and hot. He wanted to feel skin on skin, but he couldn’t break free to demand it, so he took what he could get.

Their movements slowed, time slowed. Billy could feel every flex of muscle against him as they moved, legs entangled and hips grinding together. He thrust upward, groaning into Harrington’s mouth as the two of them climbed higher and then fell over the edge together. 

It was enough. With Harrington looking down at him with an expression that had desire written across every feature, it was enough. 

 

~oOo~

 

“Does Hop ever ask where all the firewood comes from?” Steve asked, grinning at Billy over the top of Jane’s head.

The three of them were carrying piles of wood back to Jane’s cabin. She shook her head, but the smile on her face told another story. He might not have asked, but Billy knew for damn sure he knew something was up. The man was too clever not to know.

Billy had heard the whole story now, crazy and unbelievable though it was. He wondered what Max would do if she found out he knew, but he decided it wasn’t worth finding out.

Voices in the cabin broke through their quiet conversation, and Billy froze. He saw Steve watching him out of the corner of his eye, but he couldn’t think fast enough, and it was already too late. 

Mike opened the door and stared at them. “What the hell is  _ he  _ doing here?” he finally managed to spit out, glaring at Billy and waving a hand in his direction.

“Boo,” Billy drawled, reaching for a cigarette and lighting up.

If he was about to get the shit kicked out of him by a bunch of nerds, he damn sure wanted a smoke first.

“Friend,” Jane said. 

“Friend?!” Mike shook his head vigorously. “No, no, El. He’s not a friend. He can’t be--”

The door flew open and the rest of the kids poured out. Max gaped at Billy with an expression of horrified betrayal, and Billy decided that, fuck it, it had been worth it--he would treasure that memory for years to come.

“I think I’ll head out now, Jane,” he said.

Dustin gasped and, in a whisper loud enough to reach all of Hawkins, said, “He knows her name!”

Jane frowned. “Stay,” she insisted. 

“Nah.” Billy backed away. “Not a good idea, kid.” 

He nodded goodbye to Steve, not wanting to draw attention to the two of them yet; one step at a time. Then, Hopper appeared in the doorway, an expression of resignation on his face. 

“Thanks for the firewood, boys,” he said, looking only at Billy as he started down the steps towards them. “You’re late.”

Billy frowned, but Hopper had already taken him by the shoulder and started to lead him inside. 

“You’re helping babysit. I won’t take anything less than a three to six ratio with these kids. They have a bad habit of finding trouble. You got another cigarette?”

Billy handed him the pack.

“Appreciate it, kid.” Hopper stopped pushing him towards the cabin. 

He plucked a cigarette free, lit up, and blew out a cloud of smoke in unmistakable relief. Billy stared at him, wondering what dimension he’d fallen into where someone the same age as his dad didn’t treat him like a fuck-up but like an equal. Noise distracted him, and he glanced over at the kids.

Somehow, between Jane and Steve and Hopper, everything had changed. The kids filed back inside, already ignoring him and talking about something nerdy. Steve caught him looking and grinned at him, holding open the door; it made something take flight in Billy’s chest, something warm and bright.

When Billy looked back, Hopper was watching him with an expression that was entirely too aware. 

Damn these people who didn’t need words. Billy didn’t know how to deal with people who understood him; it left him feeling wrong-footed and a little lost. But then, he knew now that there were ways he could communicate without speaking, ways that he could shatter the glass and  _ feel _ things without losing control. Jane had taught him that.

After a moment, Billy nodded to Hopper, the gesture as loud as if he had shouted. 

Then, he turned back and followed Steve inside.

**Author's Note:**

> Billy is listening to the Judas Priest album "British Steel" throughout this fic, because I'm listening to it XD Also my fics here aren't beta'd because I literally know nobody in this fandom, so I'm sorry if there are any dreadful mistakes.
> 
> Also I am meant to be doing SO MANY OTHER THINGS. Things that have deadlines. Like, deadlines of 10k in four days... Yet, here I am... back with the Harringrove...


End file.
